


we're supposed to kill each other but what happened?

by jonaley5



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Assassins and Hunters, Colorblind George, Forbidden Love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minecraft, Mutual Pining, Self-Indulgent, also a bit ooc, but its realistic, but they shouldnt be hahaha sike mfs, dream wears a mask, idk it just is, just because, no beta we die like men, realistic minecraft elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25354627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonaley5/pseuds/jonaley5
Summary: George shook his head. He's supposed to be locating a hunter. A specific hunter. An annoying one, he thinks."Dream."George couldn't help but feel his heart flutter at the sound of the hunter's name leaving his lips. He smiled. Only to be shattered by mere seconds with an unpleasant reminder that this target could bring a number of consequences if left alive.He continues stalling, his heart yearning.alternate summary:(Assassin kills a Hunter! GONE WRONG!)(edit: thanking dttwt for making me a lil comfortable to share this as me! hello! it is i, jon, a dnfer. words cannot explain how relieved i am to finally say this outloud)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 403





	we're supposed to kill each other but what happened?

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this on my phone shut the hell up.
> 
> dont shove this to the mentioned cc's faces.  
> everything mentioned is fiction.  
> you all know the drill; dont be fucking weird 
> 
> oOOOoOoOoOOoOoo cURsE wORdsSsSSs BeWAaaaAaReEeE

"I hate you." 

George threw a pebble at Dream's head, whilst weaving through the dark oak forest.

Dream, decided that he isn't going to pussy out, dodged the pebble by hiding behind a tree trunk, "Wondering what took you so long to say that," he mused, playfully sticking his head out the tree.

George laughed, stopping to pick up another pebble, "I dunno," he shrugged, "maybe I'm just too busy looking into your bright green eyes," he raised his eyebrow teasingly, chortling after Dream pretended to gag.

"You don't even know what green looks like, plus you can't see anything because of this!" Dream pointed to the mask.

George scoffed, "Yeah, so? Your fault — you told me it is. Can't I have a little bit of fun?" he tossed the pebble, catching it mid-air.

"You're such an idiot."

The assassin giggled, "You too," he chucked the pebble at Dream, "and you can't deny me," his eyes now following the pebble that pathetically zoomed past the hunter's head.

"I might not deny you but I can deny this—" Dream swiftly dodged the assassin's stab, narrowly missing a dagger to his arm.

Dream recovered. He quickly took hold of the assassin's wrist where the other held the dagger and snatched it, immediately letting go of the wrist and bent forward to wheeze.

George stumbled on from the lack of obstacle and slammed his torso to a tree trunk. He groaned, fighting the urge to throw a punch to the other and because his wrist hurt, opting to stick to the tree instead. 

"I thought you'd be much more resilient after that one," Dream laughed, shaking his head, "You gonna cry? Piss your pants maybe?" he snickered.

"Whatever," George huffed as he turned around, ducked, and swept his leg, catching Dream off-guard as he lost his balance.

Dream fell to the ground with a yelp. It was now George's turn to laugh.

Dream, whilst pretending to be annoyed and still on the ground, tugged the older's foot then pulled harshly. George gasped and dropped on his ass. He took a moment to process before regaining his senses and slapping the younger's shoulder — Dream gasped dramatically.

"Unfair!" George yelled, face flushed with embarrassment.

"What do you  _ mean _ unfair? We're both on the ground!" Dream raised his voice, "It  _ is _ fair!" a cackle followed after. George took this opportunity to take his beloved dagger out of the hunter's hand, pocketing it back.

"It is not," George puffed his cheeks, standing up and dusted his lap. The older lightly kicked the younger's shoulder, satisfied when he heard the hunter groan in response.

"Aw, but you love me," Dream cooed, still on the ground and his hand reaching out for the assassin. George knew that the fucker wore a lopsided smile underneath that mask. He said  _ fuck it _ and reached to the person on the ground with a warm, genuine smile. 

Dream gasped, "You  _ do _ love me!" he laughed in delight, happily taking George's hand.

The assassin's hand pulled away abruptly, dropping Dream's hand and slowly realizing what the other said, "Wait— what?" his fingers fidget with the hem of this shirt, "No, I fucking don't," he laughed nervously.

"You do!" Dream chirped. “You didn’t deny it!”

The older rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, so what if I do?" he gave in, ignoring the fact that he's turning red and that they're really going to talk about this right now?

George is an assassin tasked to kill this man in front of him. 

He hasn't done it. 

Yet. 

Nor does he feel the need to slaughter him.

Except—

This is the same man who he fought with over diamond knives in the middle of a crowd when they first encountered each other, resulting with both of them kicked out of the village by an iron golem with threatening stares from the residents.

The same man who he chased around for almost four agonizing months through birch forests, savannas, desserts, mountains, and oceans while arguing about nonsense (ranging from "how are you" to "do fishes drown?" and "damn, you're short") that annoyed him to the core. 

The same man who attempted to poison him by offering a neatly arranged and fresh bouquet of roses — despite knowing he's colorblind (to which is something Dream forgot about) — when the sun waved farewell to the skies and to the dancing flower fields where they stood;

This man is to be feared. To be  _ eliminated _ .

However, there are moments where it left a heavy weight in his chest but made his heart full of euphoria that tinged of sinfulness.

This is the same man who he argued with for nearly five minutes on insisting to aid his leg (the scar always reminds him), not missing how the hunter's tender hands skillfully worked through the night of hisses and wound. 

The same man who dragged him inside a cave when he passed out in the middle of the plains biome with the moon high in the sky mocking his situation, solicitude and distress written all over the hunter's body language disguised as snarly and sardonic to which he found endearing.

The same man who left him the next morning with a flower crown that sat undisturbed near the campfire — the first thing he saw in his line of sight because of the bright yellow and blue that caught his attention. Inspecting it, cornflowers and dandelions were weaved neatly over the other and another, their petals fresh and the colors beaming a smile for him. He ran his fingers through the fragile gift, placing the crown on top of his head. Leaving them there for the rest of the day; 

George doesn't know where it went spiraling down. 

Dream is right here. Defenseless and open. An easy opportunity to strike. 

What's stopping him? 

Was it the fact that Dream is another skilled hunter? One of the known members of a nefarious group of people? That this man right here could technically end his life right there and then? 

Or is it because of the most random occasions where Dream showed to be vulnerable? Who cared and put up an act as if he was an old friend of his? Maybe he wanted to be more than friends (George bitterly laughed)? Does he even like Dream that way? Maybe?

Have they gone to a point where they realized there's no going back?

Have they gone too far?

It's wrong.

It feels wrong.

And George knows that Dream knows about this. With this thought alone, frustration boils up inside him.

Dream knows that George is a potential enemy. That they're supposed to be at each other's throats, fearing for their lives. But God knows what the fuck happened. Even if they do know, neither will say it sooner or later, keeping their mouths shut until other matters rise.

They shouldn't even be like this. Everything is—

"Wrong," George blurted out. 

"What? Pff— I love you, George," Dream smiled softly, "say it back, please?" he whined, which snapped George back to reality. 

The idiot is oblivious to George's dilemma. He mentally scoffed.

Both men noticed that the atmosphere around them leisurely shifted to another. An atmosphere they can't describe. An atmosphere they always desired of, like an addiction, something that both knew that shouldn't exist between them.

Yet it was the thrill that made both of them nervous, the moments that made them chase it.

Dream noticed George's eyes drifting away, like he's unsure of something. 

His eyes wander along the other's face. From wavering eyes, lips pressed, cheeks flushed and puffed. He finds himself hesitating; not sure whether to stop his fantasies or continue admiring the other male. 

Dream can hear his own heart pounding in his ears, similar to the bells in a village. He can feel his cheeks slowly rise in temperature like buckets of lava. He can feel the soft breeze his stomach rumbled when butterflies gracefully flew around—

George snapped his fingers, "Dream?" his voice soft and laced with quiet concern. The assassin watched the younger's shoulders relax, this time, he offered both of his hands.

Right. Still on the ground.

He took both, pulled up in one swift motion.

Both knew what they felt for each other, but neither wanted to acknowledge it. 

Neither wanted this to stop.

They both held each other's hands, reluctant and delicate. Their skin touched against each other, something that both are hyper aware of. Their eyes are locked on their hands, an attempt to avoid eye contact; although George isn't too sure how he's going to avoid eye contact if the other's damn mask is in the way yet he can guarantee that he can always feel eyes if they were on him.

And at that moment he can feel a surge of fluttering stares burning onto his skull.

Behind the mask, Dream flickered his eyes between George and their hands. He doesn't know where to place his eyes, he's too confused, only landing back on the older when he sees George subtly but visibly suck in a breath as he hesitantly took the lead and stroked his thumb on George's knuckles.

Dream wanted the assassin to lift his head up; he should wait. As a patient person, he's willing to so anyways. A part of him betrayed his wishes by being desperate for George to look him in the eye; to look into his soul. To read the emotions he himself couldn't dare to say. 

Like Pandora's box — it's dangerous. 

All the while, everything is too quiet. 

It wasn't a kind of quiet that both cannot bear to handle. The kind of quiet where they both hated each other's guts like many months ago and eyes filled with lust for the smell of iron and fear—

No it wasn't that. 

It's different.

Quiet; except they loved it. 

Everything around them screamed comfort, patient for each other and sweet. A kind of quiet where they yearned to spill their hearts full of fears and weaknesses and fill it with each other's warmth and tranquility. The kind of quiet where their hearts race in unison and make their ears ring—

Both knew what they felt for each other, but neither wanted to acknowledge it.

Dream continued to caress his knuckles, still waiting and using all his willpower to stop himself from intertwining their fingers. He resigned from waiting for the shorter to look at him to letting his eyes fall on their hands. 

He wanted to scream right there and then. To tell him how much he wanted to hold him in a tight embrace. How he wants to shower the other in words that might surprise him. That it hurts to keep these thoughts all to himself when he knows that the other feels the same. He wanted to cry out of joy to finally let all the raw emotion pour out of his eyes. 

To let him know that he  _ loves _ him—

George squeezes his hands.

Dream's gaze snapped back up to George, who still refused to look him in the eye. Yet it sparked a glimmer of hope inside of Dream when he felt George slowly pulling him in.

But still; the assassin denied to look at him. It made him feel frustrated even more. Because he knows, George knows—

_ Snap _ .

Both broke off their link, albeit harshly. Hearts screamed of disappointment at the loss of contact. The moment they previously drank in now shattered into millions of pieces.

Now on high alert, they both stood on their ground. George steadily scanned the area, a dagger in hand, waiting for whatever caused the sound. Dream on his back listening for movement and his muscles tensed, ready to fight. Or flee. Whichever is best for the situation.

They waited for a few moments and when a particular loud bird flew over them, they both relaxed, but their attention still stuck to their surroundings. 

The forest might be their downfall and both know they'll be in danger. 

They couldn't stay here any longer. 

"We should go," Dream quietly suggested.

"We shouldn't be here in the first place," George frowned and his heart throbbed. 

Dream faced him, confused. "What? We should—"

"No! Just—" George stopped himself, "Shut up," he groaned, letting his hand out. Dream tilted his head, still not understanding what George wanted him to do. The assassin caught on, "Give me your hand," he requests and his voice firm.

Dream, still dubious, slowly took George's hand.

George sucked in a short breath when Dream complied. A small smile crept up to his face, giggling away his uneasiness and squeezed his hold lightly, letting the other know that he's okay, he'll be careful with him.

Dream returned the gesture, relaxing his shoulders.

George gathered his courage, inhaling and exhaling nervously. He closed his eyes and lifted Dream's hand up to his lips to place a gentle kiss at the back of his hand.

Dream stiffened, stopping himself from gasping. He intently watched George's warmth pull away from him, feeling a whine bubble its way out of his throat.

The shorter male blinked a few times, surprised of his boldness yet delighted of his own actions. His chest felt heavy and his heart ready to burst. A huge wave of emotions flooded his soul, all of it washing away his coherent thoughts. 

Joy? Relief? Confusion? Regret? What else? 

None of it mattered when they both have each other and all the time in the world.

Except they don't.

George can feel his own panic finally catching up to him. The realization setting in like an arrow to his head, painful and dangerous. 

This is wrong and both knew what they felt for each other, but neither wanted to acknowledge it.

"Uh— See you soon?" his voice wavering at the farewell, ignoring his watering eyes before fleeing into the trees.

Dream watched George disappear. 

Dream felt dumb. 

So he impulsively kicked the tree.


End file.
